


Soup

by nothingeverlost



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost
Summary: Midge is sick, Lenny brings soup
Relationships: Lenny Bruce (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)/Miriam "Midge" Maisel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 116





	Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Суп](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913592) by [arivne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arivne/pseuds/arivne)



“You can’t come in.” Midge had the chain on the door. She also had her oldest robe on, which wasn’t even hers but an old one of Joel’s that had somehow gotten mixed in with her things. It was orange, which did nothing for her current green-hued complexion, and it probably smelled since she hadn’t had a bath in a day and a half. “I’m sick, go away.”

“I know you’re sick, that’s why I’m here.” He held up a brown paper bag. “I heard your gig was canceled and called Suzie. She told me.”

“I didn’t think projectile vomiting on the audience would win me any favorable reviews.” Had she brushed her hair today? Even if she had she hadn’t used curlers the night before and she’d been lying on a pillow. It had to be a mess; she wasn’t really in a mirror looking mood today.

“Probably a good idea. I saw someone pee on the audience once; it went down as well as you can imagine it would.” Lenny cocked his head to one side. “You’re really not letting me in?”

“It’s really sweet, but no. I was just going to bed,” she lied.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. And unceremoniously slid down the wall to sit on the floor just to the side of her door. “This is where I say ‘sweet dreams’ right?”

“What are you doing? You can’t sit there. Someone will see. The neighbors will call the super. Or the cops.”

“What’s the closest station to here? I should let someone know to have bail money ready.” he started rifling through the bag. “There’s some really good matzo ball soup in here and it’s going to get cold. I couldn’t bother you for a spoon, could I, before you go to bed?”

“Get in here.” Midge closed the door a little more firmly than necessary so she could undo the chain. Quickly she checked that the belt of the robe was firmly tied and that her cotton pajamas were completely covered. When she’d imagined him seeing her in nightwear - and yes, she’d imagined it - she’d thought of lace and ribbons, not faded cotton and flannel. She undid the chain and opened the door, finding him already standing. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. You, however, are looking a little green. New makeup?”

“Seaweed green is all the rage this season.” She tried to do a spin, as if modeling, but her head was spinning faster than her body and she was pretty sure she was about to fall off the heels she wasn’t wearing. 

“Hey, let’s not try that again.” Suddenly a warm arm was around her waist, holding her steady. Mostly; the room was still spinning but at least she seemed to be staying upright. “Sofa or bed?”

“Is this a trick to try to get into my bedroom? You could have just asked.”

“Let’s table that for a future date. Right now let’s say sofa.” He helped her across the room, getting her settled with a blanket over her, making a show of plumping the pillow. He took a paper container out of his bag, leaving the rest on the coffee table when he vanished into the kitchen.

“Don’t burn my apartment down. I somehow doubt you’re supposed to use the stove,” she called out as she pulled the paper bag closer.

“How hard can it be? I turn on the gas, stick my head in the oven. Wait, that’s a different recipe.”

“Funny.” There were two magazines in the bag, Vogue and Look. A handful of oranges. A chocolate bar. Crackers. A bottle of ginger ale. When Lenny came back she held up one of the magazines. “Trying to decide what length skirt to wear in your act?”

“I bought it for the Jell-o and ham recipe.” He held out a bowl and spoon. “Think you can manage yourself or should I feed you?”

“Even Esther can feed herself. I think.” At least she seemed to get some food in her mouth. “I can do it.”

“You don’t mind if I sit and watch, do you?”

“That bored?” The first bite Midge took was warm, a little salty, and the best thing she’d had in days. “You went to Carnegie’s?”

“They make the best.” He settled on the opposite side of the sofa; at some point he’d taken his coat off. His sleeves were rolled up and when he draped one arm over the edge of the sofa she could see part of a tattoo.

“So that’s not just a story for your act.” She nodded at his arm.

“It’s a souvenir. I went to this island once, the gift shop was crap so I did this instead.” He shrugged.

“If I could keep my eyes open I’d ask for a closer look.” Maybe it was the soup that made her tired. Maybe it was being comfortable for the first time in over a day. She really would like a look at the tattoo, and maybe if she saw the whole thing she could figure out what it meant. It was strange to think of Lenny in a uniform, fighting a war. Then again he was always fighting something.

“Let me have the soup before you wear it.” He took it away and pulled the blanket up higher. “Get some sleep, you can eat the rest later.”

“If you leave it in the fridge I’ll have it for breakfast.” Her eyes were so heavy. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” He cleaned up the soup and put the oranges in the kitchen, along with the ginger ale. When he settled back down he chose the armchair. He was still there, asleep, when she woke up.


End file.
